


All That And More

by ClothesBeam



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, pre-war / no war AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-10-13 22:27:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10523181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClothesBeam/pseuds/ClothesBeam
Summary: Swindle, professional thief and up-and-coming slum lord, somehow manages to accidentally bluff his way through romancing racing's rising star with his non-existent prowess in the berthroom. Is a ridiculous coincidence going to be what turns his life around, or is playing in the big leagues just going to get him into even more trouble?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Why da faq am I starting another multi-chapter fic?

Swindle walked into the club’s kitchen as though he’d worked there his entire life. Back in his own neighbourhood, his current polish and paint touch up would make him stick out like a dinged thumb. But in a ritzy place like this, he was almost considered plain.

_Crystallise_ was an apt name for the place, what with the main feature being a huge piece of clear crystal in the centre of the room that had been carved into an abstract shape. Most of the light came from the coloured bulbs that had been set up to shine and refract through the central structure. But, Swindle wasn’t here to steal something _that_ conspicuous.

The nightclub was busy tonight, and it was packed with nearly as many staff as there were VIPs. It hadn’t been difficult for him to make his way inside under security’s nose. Especially not when he’d already scoped out where the service entrance was, and picked up one of the badges that the staff members wore.

Swindle had started off on the street, but he’d quickly learnt how to take things people didn’t have both of their optics on. It’d only been a matter of time before he’d moved up onto shoplifting, and then breaking and entering. He’d managed to scrimp and save enough to move into an actual house somewhere the crime rate was a little lower, but still, it wasn’t always easy for him to sleep at night when his current social standing was so precarious.

But Swindle had bigger and better ambitions, yet. Recently he’d found stealing stuff that was actually worth something was opening the doors to where he wanted to go. Stealing from a ritzy place like this was a first for him, but he’d been researching this event and location for weeks. There was no point in wasting the time spent now.

He was going for anything that could fit inconspicuously into the covered space on one of the serving trolleys. And when most of the bottles of engex were worth more than a year of his rent, it wouldn’t be difficult to pick up enough stuff to make the risk worth it.

And hey, he might even find actual cash or other stuff he could trade off later down the line, like some of the smaller crystal decorations.

Swindle passed through the hectic kitchen and took the first exit that led to the area behind the bar. He made like he was loading up a trolley to go around and offer expensive bottles to the tables, even going so far as to prepare ice buckets for some of the stuff that was meant to be drunk cold.

“Hey,” a voice called from behind him, just as he was about to go out onto the floor. “What’s with the service here? There’s so many people running around like their exhaust is on fire, but not one of them is serving drinks.”

Swindle sighed to himself, but he’d known it was possible he might actually have to do some work to keep up the facade. The only problem was he’d never eaten out or worked behind a bar before, so he didn’t really know what to do or how to act. Still, he _was_ good at bluffing.

He turned to see a slender mech with light blue paint who looked like he’d been freshly polished and cleaned up especially for this. Given his frame type, he was probably one of the athletes that this event was all about, so it was likely that assessment wasn’t that far off. Swindle might have called him handsome if he didn’t have such an arrogant expression seemingly permanently engraved on his faceplate.

“I’m sorry about that. I’m not really sure what’s happening because I just started my shift. But I can bring a bottle to your table if you’d prefer?” he tried, hoping the guy would go sit down so he could make his way out with the expensive booze already.

The racer didn’t look particularly impressed by his suggestion. “Please, this party is just an excuse for my sponsors to get in bed with each other, possibly literally. I don’t want to get stuck listening to boring business mechs, I just want something to drink so the night will go by faster.”

Swindle tried not to laugh; he guessed he could feel sorry for the guy. But a party at a place like this must mean he was ranking high in the big leagues, probably with a salary and bonuses to match, so his pity was short lived.

“Oh, I see. What can I get for you then?” he asked, moving away from the fridge so the racer could see the labels on the bottles. Of course everything was prepaid at a do like this, so all Swindle had to do now was pour the drink, right?

“Hmm,” the racer murmured as he pondered. His bored expression indicated he was used to having these lavish options available. “I don’t really care. Just give me something sweet and not too strong. I’ve seen a few weirdos around the place.”

Swindle restrained himself from rolling his optics as he turned away to inspect the labels more closely. It wasn’t like he drank this stuff himself, but he knew enough about it to be able to sell it to others. He picked up something he knew was prized for being light and sweet and pulled what he hoped was the right type of fancy glass from the bottom of the fridge. He poured it slowly, trying to stop his hand from shaking and spilling it everywhere, and hoping the drink would end the conversation so he could get out of there.

The racer appraised the glass with a raised brow, but took it and turned away without further comment. Somehow Swindle wasn’t surprised he couldn’t even get a word of thanks, but he took the opportunity to load a few last bottles into the bottom of his trolley. All he had to do now was make a circuit around the room and then casually make his way back to the service elevator in the back of the kitchen…

“Oi, come on, the guests are waiting! Stop dawdling!” another one of the wait staff called as he came up behind Swindle.

Given how harried and worried he looked, Swindle guessed he had to be one of the people in charge of the event and the staff. And he was probably the one who’d be getting an earful when the guests complained about the service, and probably when the owner found out a heap of stock had magically disappeared.

“Sorry,” Swindle said quickly, and put the last bottle in an ice bucket down on top of the trolley before making his way out onto the floor. He’d have to at least get rid of that one before he could quietly make his way out. Thankfully the manager hadn’t decided to follow him and had already turned away to put out another proverbial fire instead.

Swindle found most of the tables already had bottles on them. He was in the middle of considering just walking back around and dropping the bottle off at the other end of the bar on his way out when he heard that arrogant voice again.

“Hey, over here,” the light blue racer said, raising his arm.

He’d seated himself in a booth with one long seat that curved around a round table. No one could join him unless they either chose to shuffle around awkwardly or sit directly opposite him.

“Can I help you?” Swindle asked, trying not to sound like he just wanted to brush him off. If he called the manager over here, it’d put a cramp in his plans.

“Yeah, I’m bored,” he replied with a petulant scowl. “Take your badge off and sit with me.”

Swindle couldn’t believe this. He glanced around and saw no one important was looking his way.

“Don’t worry, I’ll cover you if your boss comes over,” he assured, misinterpreting Swindle’s hesitance. “Come on, there’s a weird guy who won’t stop stalking me. Just stay with me for twenty minutes then we can both leave.”

Swindle sighed and put the bottle on the table, then lifted the tablecloth and quickly hid his trolley under it. He really didn’t want to hang around for much longer, but this was a delicate situation. He pulled his badge off and stuck it to the underside of the table for now. His paint job wasn’t nice enough to fool anyone into thinking he was a guest here, but as long as the racer didn’t ditch him he should be able to get away with it for a little while.

“So, what _are_ you doing here? I believed the act for a while, but you really do stand out a lot,” the racer said with a smirk.

“What are you talking about?” Swindle muttered, not able to prevent himself from glancing around the room in paranoia every five seconds.

“It’s not every day I get served something like that in an ordinary dinner glass,” he replied and gave a small laugh. “But hey, three drinks in one, guess I can’t complain.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I was just busy and I could see you were in a hurry too,” Swindle continued to lie, even though it wasn’t doing much good. The racer seemed to find it entertaining, at least.

He shook his head with a smile. “This isn’t the first time my management team have held a function here, but you don’t even know who I am, do you?”

“Why, should I?” Swindle asked. He couldn’t help but get defensive when the racer used that condescending tone.

“Do let me know which rock it is you’ve been living under, I’d like to holiday there when it all gets too much,” he teased. “Or are you just too cool for the races?” he asked and leaned forward. “Maybe I can convince you otherwise.”

Swindle wasn’t able to do much other than stare. Was this stuck up guy actually flirting with him? Maybe he should’ve been more careful with serving the drinks after all.

“Very funny, what do you actually want with me? I really just want to finish work and get home,” he admitted, while still being vague.

“Well, maybe after breaking into the big leagues I want attention of the type no one here wants to give,” the racer replied, seeming to return the honesty with some of his own. “I’m still pent up from the race they just made me run, and now they want me to sit still and look pretty until they negotiate a new deal. I’m already bored of that.”

Swindle wondered if the racer really was all that big, or maybe he really was just that far out of the loop. It wasn’t like he had much time to sit around and watch sports. But still, maybe there was more to see, and take, in the hotel rooms upstairs?

“All right, fine. Sure,” Swindle replied with a shrug. “But let’s get out of here sooner than later.”

“Why are you in such a rush? The booze here is good.” He gave the table top a significant look, as though he could see the trolley that was currently hiding under it, before adding, “Or are you not supposed to be here at all?”

“I’ll tell you all about it, _if_ you make sure I get out of here with the bottles on my trolley,” Swindle replied, automatically seeking the deal that would suit him best.

The racer just smiled and finished off the last of his drink before standing up. “Well, let’s go then. It’s been a while since I had to introduce myself to anyone, but I’m Blurr.”

Given the situation they were in, Swindle couldn’t help but smile with some humour before stating his own name.

Blurr didn’t comment, at least not yet, and confidently led him back to the main entrance where the elevator was. It seemed Blurr was even better at bluffing than he was, because they were inside the elevator and on their way to the upper floors with hardly a glance from the staff or other patrons.

Their ascent slowed and they came to a stop a few floors from the top of the building. Swindle was sure he’d never even been this high up before. Blurr crossed the hall and scanned the pass for his room before turning to hold the door open for Swindle and his trolley of what could now be considered stolen goods.

Swindle’s optics widened when he saw the size of the suite, then widened again when he noticed the view of the city lights below. He left the trolley in the fancy little kitchenette before making his way over to the window to get a closer look. He heard Blurr’s footsteps follow him from behind, and realised the racer didn’t intend to turn the lights on. Their biolights, optics, and the light from outside gave them enough to see each other, so he guessed it didn’t matter either way.

As long, slim fingers ran down his arm, Swindle was suddenly reminded of why he’d agreed to come here and who was behind him. Blurr’s other hand rested on the side of his face as Swindle started to turn back around, and he soon found himself being pulled into a deep kiss.

Thankfully Blurr seemed to put his clumsy and delayed response down to shock rather than inexperience, and simply pulled back slightly with a soft laugh. But lying and bluffing were what had gotten Swindle this far in life, so he wasn’t about to stop now.

“Shut up,” he muttered, but let himself be led over to the berthroom. He hadn’t come here just to copulate with a celebrity, in fact, the amount of copulating he’d ever done amounted to a big fat zero. But he wasn’t sure how Blurr would react if he told him that now, so Swindle kept his mouth shut.

But then Blurr’s high performance engine revved softly, and Swindle suddenly thought he’d let Blurr touch him as much as he wanted if it meant he got to hear and feel that again.

The berthroom alone was about as roomy as the little squat Swindle rented. His optics slid over the glass doors that led to a private balcony before he was coerced into sitting down on the soft berth covers, yet another luxury. He leaned back further when the taller mech all but sat in his lap.

“All I want to do after a long race is frag, but of course they never give me time to do just that,” Blurr murmured in his audial as he ground down against him once, then twice. “But the desire never really leaves, I just get more desperate.”

Swindle rolled his optics at the implication. “Yeah, yeah, you already said I was the only thing you could get in the circumstances. What do you want?” he asked as though he was an expert in a range of berth-related activities. Which he was most certainly not, but bluffing had got him this far and he couldn’t stop now.

“Bet you have a fat little spike,” Blurr murmured. “I’ve been wet for something like that since the race began.”

“Are you still?” Swindle asked, trying not to sound shocked by the filth coming out of the racer’s mouth. Either way, it didn’t sound quite right to him, even as he reached a hand down to investigate. “Maybe we should do something about that first?”

Blurr thrust his hips forward and let his panel slide aside. “Touch me,” he murmured, and his failure to hide the desperation in his voice sent a bolt of pleasure down Swindle’s spinal structure.

Swindle slid his hand between them and felt the slight dampness as Blurr ground himself into his hand. He found the sensitive area under the racer’s spike housing and tried to imitate the speed and pressure he seemed to be going for. He knew he was on the money when Blurr pushed his hips forward and moaned somewhere above his audial.

Swindle moved up and down, then tried a side to side movement, trying to explore what his partner liked without changing things too frequently. Blurr was hovering over his hand now, letting Swindle do as he pleased. The racer’s legs shook slightly, from both pleasure and fatigue, Swindle assumed. His wrist was getting sore from being cramped anyway, so he soon made a suggestion.

“If it’d be more comfortable, maybe you should lie down. Then I could use my mouth,” he added, thinking it’d give him the chance to have a bit of a break before trying something new.

Blurr shuffled off of his lap and lay back on the soft covers and helm-supports, spreading his legs again. He’d moved so quickly it took Swindle a moment to understand what had happened, but he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting from a revved up racing frame. Swindle crawled into the new position between his legs rather more slowly, and took a moment to admire the view before leaning down to inspect his valve more closely. He still couldn’t quite believe he’d managed to bluff his way into this situation.

Swindle ran his glossa over the smooth expanse between Blurr’s spike housing and his valve entrance, trying to hide his reaction to the strong taste. It seemed he’d done something right when Blurr tilted his head back and gave a sigh of pleasure. Swindle found he had to push a bit harder for his glossa to have the same impact as his fingers, but it was obvious the moment he’d figured it out.

Swindle shut his optics off to help him feel less embarrassed about the position he was in, so it was a surprise when something new bumped against his nasal ridge. He pulled back slightly to see the tip of a modest spike was poking out of its covers now. Blurr sat up slightly, and when their optics met, Swindle realised how embarrassed he seemed to be.

“What’s wrong?” Swindle asked, continuing to gently stroke the racer’s entrance.

Blurr glanced away, and Swindle took another look at the spike peeking through. He realised it wasn’t just the tip of the spike, but the whole thing. When it didn’t seem he was going to say anything, Swindle leaned forward again and wrapped his lips around the tip.

Blurr gasped, but the tension in his frame relaxed as Swindle continued as though nothing was wrong. He didn’t really care what the racer’s junk was like, he just wanted to be able to take his assets somewhere safe at the end of all this.

Blurr seemed to honestly enjoy the way he sucked him like this, and soon his hips were pushing into him even harder. Swindle maintained what he was doing as best he could, and turned out to be the right decision when Blurr cried out softly.

“F-frag! Swindle!”

Swindle managed to prevent himself from choking on the spurt of transfluid that shot into his mouth a moment later, and swallowed it down since he wasn’t entirely sure what else to do with it. He could see Blurr was still aroused and still eager for his valve to be touched, so Swindle returned to this before the racer could say anything much.

But it didn’t seem to stop him this time. “Don’t you want to spike me?”

Though he wasn’t as worked up as his berthmate, the idea was certainly an attractive one. Swindle got to his knees and let his hard spike out. Blurr reached down to slide his fingers into his own valve and spread the transfluid around his entrance once more as his optics lingered on him.

Swindle pressed forward as soon as Blurr’s hand was clear again, worried he’d get stage fright if the mech continued to stare at him like that. Swindle shuddered as the racer’s tight confines gripped him snugly. Blurr’s long legs wrapped around his waist and he angled his hips so that the tip of his spike would press into him how he wanted.

Swindle moved back and forth hesitantly at first, but soon enough he’d built the confidence to move more boldly. Blurr seemed to approve of it, if his moans and engine revs were anything to go by. Blurr gripped Swindle’s forearms, his optics now unseeing as he was caught up in his own pleasure. Swindle had to admit he liked seeing the racer like this, and felt some sort of pride that he was at least partially responsible for his current state.

Even after the racer reached his peak and his valve had finished convulsing around him, Swindle still hadn’t managed to get there yet himself. Blurr passed air through his frame quickly as he came down from whatever high he’d been on. After a moment he seemed to notice Swindle had pulled out but was still hard, and reached a shaky hand out to close around him.

Swindle was still slick with Blurr’s fluids, and his processor was still full of memories of what had just happened, so it didn’t take him long to finish as well. Swindle leaned forward on his elbows again, trying not to look as utterly exhausted as he felt. But it didn’t take long for his mind to return to the goods he was trying to make off with.

Swindle sat up and slid to the edge of the berth. He could rest when he was at home, safe behind locked doors.

“Where are you going?” Blurr asked, his cocky demeanour having vanished for the moment.

“I need to get that stuff out of here before someone finds out what I did,” Swindle reminded. He slid out of what remained of the racer’s grip and made his way over to the en suite so he could wash the fluids away.

“Do you really have to leave right now?”

“Yes,” Swindle replied as he returned to the berthroom, but he soon walked back into the kitchenette to grab his things.

“Swindle,” the racer said, sounding a mix between disappointed and reproachful.

It was enough to make the mech turn around with a guilty expression. He guessed Blurr was still feeling vulnerable after what they’d done. Swindle mentally sighed to himself before walking back over to the berth.

“Yes?”

“We should stay in contact somehow. Can I have your number? Delivery address or something?”

He hesitated only because he usually never gave those things out. But Blurr was well off, and more importantly, he had connections. Swindle would be a fool to pass up an opportunity like this, even if the way he’d stumbled into it hadn’t exactly been planned.

He took Blurr’s phone when the mech held it out to him and typed a description of his address. It wasn’t like someone like Blurr would ever visit him in that end of town.

“If you’re going to send anything that’s worth something other than sentimental value, don’t deliver it to my post office, try to catch me while I’m at home during the day. I need to hide this stuff, so I won’t be around for a few days.”

“I understand,” Blurr murmured, but Swindle wondered if he really did. He still seemed disappointed that he was leaving so soon.

Swindle knelt on the edge of the berth and leaned forward, not quite brave enough to try and kiss him in spite of what they’d just been doing. “Let’s meet up and do this properly some time. It’s just bad timing, ok?” The sentiment wasn’t entirely an act.

Still, his weak assurances seemed to do something for Blurr, even though he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep them. Tonight had been one giant fluke, and he was terrified he’d screw things up if they ever met again.

“All right then, I’ll hold you to that. Good luck getting home.”

“Thanks,” Swindle replied awkwardly before getting off the berth and making his way over to the trolley. All he had to do now was get this stuff to a safe place and get home before the sun came up. He’d be recharging for most of tomorrow, he was sure.

But the only thing he could think about on his drive back was a certain blue speedster in the throes of pleasure. Then he thought of how utterly the same mech could destroy his life if Swindle ever gave him a reason to feel angry or offended.

Just what had he gotten himself into?


	2. Chapter 2

Swindle had already managed to sell one of the bottles to a collector, albeit at a seriously depressed price. But, unfortunately, when he had loan repayments and late rent to make up for, he couldn’t spend too much time bartering.

Swindle rolled over on the bare, rickety berth and sighed to himself as he tried to get back to recharge for a while. On one side of the street his neighbours had been screaming at each other for half the night, and on the other there’d been some sort of illegal drag race going on.

Calling the cops on your neighbours was not the done thing around here. And with the amount of stuff he smuggled through his own home, he didn’t really want to give anyone the motivation to get revenge on him later down the line.

So when there was a loud knock at his front door, it was with great apprehension that Swindle dragged himself away from his berth. He looked through the small peephole only to find a slightly nervous mech standing on his doorstep with a parcel in his hands. The mech was pristine with a modest polish, which was enough to look professional at a normal day job. But in a place like this he just stood out, and not in a good way.

Since Swindle was reasonably sure he was here because of Blurr, he took pity on the guy and quickly undid the manual deadbolts on his door. Electronic was the standard these days, but the supply of electricity to this sector was unreliable. It just wasn’t good enough when he had valuable stock in his basement.

The mech looked relieved to see him, and immediately began his spiel. “Hi there, my name is-”

But Swindle dragged him inside before he could get started, hiding him from sight and locking the door behind him.

“You’re Blurr’s delivery boy, right?” The moment he nodded and opened his mouth to explain further, Swindle continued. “You can’t just come waltzing into this sort of neighbourhood looking like that. You want to be beaten and have all your packages stolen?”

The young mech looked affronted. “I’m a highly trained professional, I doubt they’d even be able to lay a hand on me.”

Swindle rolled his optics and came to a halt by the small table he used to both hold his old datapads and fuel up at. “Isn’t it better to avoid drawing attention in the first place?” he muttered as he cleared a space for the box.

The mech took the hint and put it down, but kept his mouth shut. He held out a datapad and a stylus, and left Swindle to sign off on receiving the package while he fiddled around with his navigation device. Swindle handed the items back after leaving a random scribble on the pad. He was wary of people trying to steal his stuff using his signature, since he’d done it to others before.

“Just head that way, down to the end of the street,” Swindle explained, pointing. “You can climb back up to the main road, which will save you having to travel about fifteen minutes through a dangerous area.”

The mech tucked the datapad away with a small shrug. “Thanks, I guess.”

He didn’t linger when Swindle let him back out the door, and for that he was glad. Swindle was both nervous and keen to see what it was Blurr wanted from him now. In some way he was surprised he’d even been remembered, and hadn’t honestly been expecting the up and coming racer to give him a second thought once he’d gotten what he wanted.

Swindle cut the box open easily and frowned as he began pulling things out. A datapad took up most of the box, but when he removed it he saw there were a few other things sitting on the bottom. He saw a slip of electronic paper, what looked like two tickets to something, and a cash card.

Swindle quickly powered up the datapad, hoping there’d be some sort of explanation written in it. He supposed using this to communicate with Blurr in the future would be more secure for both of them, as far as their privacy was concerned.

He was soon prompted for a password, with the hint being something about a hotel room number.

He was glad he had a memory for that sort of thing when he managed to get it right on the first attempt. The device immediately booted a notepad program, in which there was a letter written by who he could only assume had been Blurr.

_Hey, sorry if the password made this a pain to get into, but I didn’t want just anyone reading it. For both our sakes._

_I thought I should explain the stuff I’ve given you, and where we might go from here. This pad has a chat application on it that we can use to talk later, if you’d like. If not, well, I hope you’ll at least read this all the way through._

Swindle paused and looked down at the contents of the box again. He pulled out the electronic paper and read it properly this time, seeing it was an invitation to be Blurr’s guest at the semi-finals race that was on next weekend.

_So first thing’s first, I guess. I’m a bit disappointed our time together was cut short the other night. And I think we still have some things to discuss, like my private issue that you’re now privy to._

He should’ve known it all had something to do with that. Swindle continued reading anyway, not wanting this to turn bad if he failed to respond in the right way.

_I’m not saying you’re a scumbag who’d go sell me out right away, but I can see how the motivation would be there. First, I want to invite you to my next race as my guest so you can hang out behind the scenes as well. You can use the invitation sheet to accept the invite._

_If you’re going to come to that, then you’ll need paint and polish to fit in with the crowd. You can use the cash card to get an appointment somewhere fancy, and use the rest on whatever you need to in your personal life. As for the other two tickets, you can invite some of your friends to watch or try to scalp them, again, I don’t really care. Just don’t try to scalp the VIP invite._

_Even if you don’t want to see me again, you can still keep the money and tickets. Consider it a bribe to not go to the highest paying gossip rag. I hope you can understand my career is just getting off the ground and doesn’t really need that right now._

_If you need help with anything or want to discuss this further, just type into the chat app on the pad. I train all day and recharge early while the racing season is on, but I will get back to you._

_See you around,_

_Blurr_

Swindle continued scrolling even when it was clear there wouldn’t be any more text. He was caught up in his thoughts now. He could forget the whole thing and take the money he’d been offered, or he could try to maintain this farce and keep mooching off the racer until he’d paid off his debts and built some connections in a different sphere of society.

Other than briefly embarrassing himself, there wasn’t really any reason to not try. Besides, now that Blurr knew who he was, there was a danger of him turning on him even if Swindle never spoke to him again. So Swindle couldn’t let himself focus on worrying about that too much. It’d been pure chance that they’d hit it off in the first place, and he’d be a fool to throw away this opportunity now.

Swindle still hesitated over typing out his response for a long time. Eventually he settled on: _Can you recommend a salon?_

He quickly put the pad down, not wanting to be distracted by waiting for a response. It was still the middle of the day, after all. He picked up the cash card and tapped in to check what amount he’d been given. His spark nearly went out from the shock when he realised how many zeroes were on the end of the number.

Ten thousand shanix? Forget the salon appointment, he could pay rent for the better part of a year with this, or almost completely pay back one of his loans.

But if there was more where that came from, this really could be his big break. His ticket out of here. So the second a reply notification flashed on the screen, Swindle snatched the pad back up again.

* * *

 

Blurr continued to walk slowly around the room. He didn’t want to cool off completely during his break when he still had an afternoon of training to go. He smartly stepped around another racer and continued his lap around the room, even with his nose in his pocket communicator.

Blurr smiled at the notification of a message. He hadn’t thought much of Swindle at first, but now it seemed his processor couldn’t stop. He hadn’t really been expecting much from the frag except relief, but Swindle had delivered so much more than that. Something in his abdomen tightened when he thought about the mouth on his spike, and the complete lack of judgement.

If his manager found out about his little crush, he’d probably berate him for getting distracted over some nobody. Blurr had tried to put Swindle out of his mind, without much success. He’d just have to be set on impressing both of them with another victory. Maybe the thief would be less aloof if he moved up in the rankings by another leap.

Relief flooded Blurr’s fuel lines when he actually got around to reading the message. Swindle did want to see him again as well.

In his excitement, Blurr walked out of the break room and down the corridor to be alone while he put a call through to the salon he usually went to before, and sometimes after, a race. It was close to the stadium, so it’d be convenient, and he knew the service would be worth the price tag.

Once he had the appointment sorted, Blurr sent a quick reply back to Swindle since his break was coming to an end. But he lifted his gaze and frowned while he put his communicator away, feeling like something around him was off. He turned and saw the new guy his manager had hired to help out was standing at the other end of the corridor.

Blurr’s mouth drew downward as he turned away sharply, heading back to the break room door. The guy was so weird, and always seemed to be following him too closely. It only made Blurr raise his defences all the more.

Well, it was at least another motivation to win. If he made it to the finals, he could be as picky about his staff as he liked.

But thoughts of the weirdo disappeared when he saw Swindle’s response flash across the screen in his hands, and all too soon he was being herded back onto the track anyway.

_See you on the weekend._


End file.
